Breaking the news (after all this time)

I finally got the balls to call Mama today and fill her in. It was made even harder because one of my cousins in Hawaii had severe hemorrhaging in his brain and is being kept on life support just long enough to find recipients for his organs before he will be put to rest.

We talked about my cousin. I remember him being so cool. He was infinitely patient with me, his clumsy cousin who idolized him because of his skills on the guitar and surfboard. I remember when I bought my first guitar, he came over to help me learn to play it... and he fell in love with my round back so he went out and bought an Ovation, which is the Cadillac of acoustic round back guitars.

He taught me to play the opening chords of 'Here comes the Sun', one of my favorite guitar tunes.

I miss him already.

There's nothing like real tragedy to make your own discomforts seem petty.

I hoped Mama had read my blog and was already aware of the situation but Mama doesn't really get on the computer much. She was not going to make this easy for me. Suddenly I felt like a sophmore in High School trying to figure out how to tell my parents that I had gotten a D in Algebra. I had never gotten a D on my report card before and I was devastated... not so much personally but by the thought of my parent's disappointment in me.

Mama was surprised but I didn't hear even a hint of disappointment in her voice when I told her of the pending divorce. She seemed genuinely saddened. But not disappointed.

And then there she was again, optimistic as always. How does she do that? How does she always see the bright side of the darkest room, and yet she always does and is already making plans for next year, and the year after.

I used to think I wanted to be most like my Grandmother, Baban. Now I realize that if I can be even just a little like my Mama I'm doing pretty damn good.

I wonder if Mama has Sam Elliot's phone number because I am now available to take his phone calls.

If I can't have you...

1-800-BOOBIDOO: I have a kitten.
1-800-BOOBIDOO: I can't have you. You won't let me have another baby so I got a kitten.

1-800-DICKIDOO: Bad idea. Just telling you and you know it.

1-800-BOOBIDOO: I know.
1-800-DICKIDOO: Say no.
1-800-BOOBIDOO: Too late.
1-800-DICKIDOO: Send it back.
1-800-BOOBIDOO: Look, it's either a baby, a boyfriend or a kitten and the first two are not going to happen!

So add a tiny part Siamese kitten named Smokey to the chaotic population at Loompaland. Did I also mention the two garter snakes and a new goldfish named Aku?

And guess who held the kitten last night and let it fall asleep on his chest while watching TV last night... none other than Mr. "Send It Back" himself!

Argh!

I'm sitting on the couch right now dying one heart beat at a time, slowing bleeding to death. The phone is near by with 911 on speed dial. The broken left clicker on Dickidoo's laptop is the least of my worries. I must blog my final words.

Okay, maybe I'm being a little dramatic, but I am going through some major junk right now. I woke up never really quite fully waking up. Aunt Flo arrived last night and has been sucking the blood from my veins at an alarming rate. My heart is pounding to keep up with her demands. My head has been spinning for hours, and it might actually be enjoyable if I could keep the room from spinning with it. My arms and legs are as limp as spaghetti... cooked spaghetti. I feel like left overs from a Vampire buffet.

Actually what I'm suffering from is just pre-menopause coupled with an extra heavy menstrual cycle due to high stress levels. It sucks!

51 is the average age for menopause. That's just over 2 more years, or more importantly 25 more periods.... if I survive this one.

I need chocolate and Corona, lots of chocolate and Corona.

100

After staring at the hole in my pinstriped pants for half an hour contemplating a mending job that probably would only have taken two minutes tops, I decided upon my black brocade pants, lace tank, a denim jacket and swede ankle boots. I even brushed my hair. I wanted to look good for my 100th bust.

I was tempted to hand 'her' a balloon in celebration, complete with confetti and cake like the Dutch store did for their 10,000th. Fortunately for her I am obligated to be respectful, dang-it! At any rate I guess you could say I totally ruined her shopping experience and I'll settle for that.

The bad thing about adrenaline is that it makes me stink. Adrenaline itself doesn't stink, but it makes me perspire and that stinks! I couldn't take my jacket off because my bra strap and walkie wires would show so I had to sweat it out... and live with the stench.

Hey, maybe I burned off a couple of pounds! How cool would that be!?

100th on my 1st Anniversary. Yeah! (By the way, that's not great at all by any standard but it was a personal goal and I'm proud of it.)

The New Normal

So life is slowly starting to settle into a new 'normal'. Nephew Joseph has returned to his family in the south. I still look for him riding around the cul de sac when I drive down the street. Gabe finally has a room to sleep in. I'm bunking in Rocky's room for obvious reasons.


Just for the record Dickidoo is not leaving me because of another woman. He's leaving me because our marriage has failed. He is in love with another woman because he no longer loves me. If he still loved me this would not be an issue. I'm not taking this as well as it may appear. Believe me, I had my 2 day long pity party and still have relapses on a daily basis. In my mind I say things that are neither graceful nor amusing. If I had a genie there would be two new bull frogs in the pond. My mother drummed it in to my head 'if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all!' The funny thing is now that we have accepted the inevitable we have a better relationship than we have in quite some time. Perhaps we were just meant to be a young couple and then later on just friends. At any rate, without speaking for him, I personally have been happier since this all came out in the open than I have been in 5 years and that alone says more than words could.

At work I am preparing to celebrate my 1st Anniversary at my new position (today, yay!)... and also hope to make my 100th 'stop' (I'm at 99). In anticipation of the event I went sniffing through the laundry pile to find something decent to wear on this special occasion. I found the pinstriped slacks that I wore the other day and shook them out. Then to my horror I spotted a big gaping hole in the back of the pants, not in the front where the zipper should be. Did I really wear these pants to work with a split in the seam? I had calico polka dot panties on that day... Oh Lord, I hope I never know.

As for future plans, well I guess it's back to the drawing board. My 50 Year bucket list has taken a new direction. Gone are the mandolin lessons, the flight in the hot air balloon and the fishing trip in Alaska. Realistically speaking I think just being out and on my own two feet will be a good start for now. Starting over at the age of 50 is a bit scary but I'll still have my best friend (who is VERY lucky that I don't have a genie otherwise he would be croaking quite happily next to his sexy little amphibian sweetheart out by the pond down the way).

Song of the Day: I Was Already Gone, by Sugarland.

Acceptance.

Life has a new surreal quality to it now. Everything looks the same but it couldn't be more different. Steve and I agreed to be friends and we are but I'm sensing a strain that didn't exist before.

Duh!

For the record though, our failed relationship is not based on a whim. We have not been consistently happy for several years. It was just a matter of time. We'd have good spells, then something would happen that would knock us off kilter for a while. Usually we would right ourselves, apologize, kiss and make up. This time it's different. This time there is no kissing and making up. It's time to count our losses and let go before we destroy each other.

It is possible that things may not work out the way Steve hopes. He is well aware of this. I can't blame him for wanting to try. 'Anything worth having is worth fighting for.' We've been fighting to make 'us' work for a long time. It's time to accept that our time is passed. It's time for Steve to fight for something else. If it doesn't work out as hoped, the fact will remain~ our time has passed and it's time to move on.

I'm ready to move on. Not financially... my credit sucks! Emotionally though I find myself getting more confident with each passing day. I can talk without getting choked up and teary eyed. I no longer feel like a failure... broken and disposable. It's not the end of my life, but the beginning of a new exciting phase.

Now if I can just get people to understand that I'm getting a divorce, not dying from some incurable disease. I'm not in the market for a new love. I don't do blind dates, nor am I interested in a referral for eHarmony. Really, I'm fine!

But I swear if I hear another sappy love song I will puke!

Today revisited~

I just read my last post. Day off, NCIS marathon, 'life is good'.

Bullshit!

I never should have gotten up off of the couch when Dickidoo came home a couple of hours after I made that post and suggested a ride. Of course it would only have prolonged the inevitable but at least I could have enjoyed the rest of my marathon while I still cared.

'I'm not happy', he said.

'Ditto,' I replied.

'I still care for you but I don't love you anymore.'

(Phew! Is that all? Well, at least there isn't another woman!)

'There's someone else and I can't stop thinking about her.'

'Her' is a woman from his past, his childhood sweetheart. Long story short, they have rekindled their love for each other. Unfortunately they are both still married.

I thought I was ready for anything. I was ready for everything except that he was still in love with her. I could have dealt with anyone else but her. There I was thinking I was too fat and unappealing for him, or maybe he had ED, thus his distraction and my involuntary re-virginhood but it turned out not to be about me at all.

No, it was something more powerful than that. It only took him more than 25 years but he finally figured it out, he's still in love with her. Secretly I hope it's just the romantic memory and that once they are back together and she realized that he farts in his sleep, is a sub-conscious public nose picker and doesn't flush the toilet that she'll want nothing to do with him. Then I realize that because I loved him I had accepted those less than romantic qualities about him. If their love is as enduring as it appears to be it won't matter.

Still, I hope she's a farter too, and they can sit on the porch in their rocking chairs and watch the sun set rocking and farting like two happy hillbillies.

(That was supposed to be our future, dammit.)

So how do I feel about this? 'Feel' may be the wrong word. I haven't 'felt' much since I was so wickedly lured away from my NCIS marathon. It's like somebody has pulled the plug on my future leaving just a blank or staticky screen. I struggle to restore power and bring things back in to focus but just as I gain control and think 'Yeah, I can do this,' the power flickers and I'm in the dark again. Crying helps. So did drinking until Steve got rid of my 5 liter box of wine after I got sloshed and suggested that he do so to keep me from developing a bad habit.

25 years of 'in one ear and out the other' and he picks now to start listening to me! I could have used some wine last night. And where's my tequila? I didn't say anything about getting rid of the damn tequila! Grrrr!

I wish Steve was being a butt about all this, it might be easy to handle if I were on the defense, but he has been very honest and sensitive. I wish she were a hussy, but I've met her family and know she's comes from good people. I wish I could hate Steve and her for kicking me out of the fairytale but I can't because I honestly want Steve to be happy again. Not gloriously happy but he is a good man and should be happy. For that matter I happen to believe that I am a good woman and therefore deserve to be happy as well, but in this case we can't both be happy so it may as well be him since he's already got a plan.

The kids know and weren't particularly surprised. They are pre-conditioned by the accepted norm in society, plus they are all very mature so they understand that sometimes things just don't work out and families become separated. They are all making plans for me moving in with them when they move out. They have obviously forgotten my vow to let them change my Depends when incontinence sets in. For now they are just concerned with making me feel loved.

Its weird. This time last week I thought I was set for life. Now I'm plagued with thoughts of where I shall live once we sell this big old house. I'm almost 50. I'll never make enough to buy a house which means my less than generous paycheck is going to have to squeeze out rent for the rest of my life. I'm going to turn in to the bitchy old lady in the downstairs apartment who is always banging on the ceiling with a broomstick for quiet.

The first time Steve proposed to me he said and I quote: 'I want to watch our hair grow silver together.' That was sooooooo romantic... and as predicted we have both aged gracefully. He has more silver than I do, but mine is longer. Poor guy must have crapped his pants recently when he realized that I had dyed my hair to cover all the white and he'd have to wait longer to fulfil the prophecy so he could call it quits and get on with his life.

Every day Steve asks me if I'm okay to which I lie and say 'yes' but I'm not fine. My 25 year old romance has been replaced by an older, deeper love and I am nowhere in the picture. It's not even a 'happily ever after' story yet since it is not possible for Steve and 'her' to be together for the time being and they must wait.

I wish someone would love me like that, with a love so powerful that it endured a quarter of a century separation and countless obstacles but it still prevailed. I can understand and respect that kind of true love. It just would have been nice if it could have been for me.

So now that I am soon-to-be-single, what now? Zack's already thrown in the name of a replacement.

Are you fricken nuts because I sure am not!

No. For every heart there is one true love. Ideally the match is mutual but occasionally, as in this case, there is a mismatch and while my heart chose Steve, his heart was meant for another. No regrets though. I've got 5 wonderful kids and many great memories out of it. And now that we aren't so busy feeling unhappy with our marriage and have accepted that we cannot force it I think I have found a new friend in Steve. It's good to hear him laugh again.

But please... please, please please let her have morning breath and night-gas!

Today~

The first time I peeked at my alarm clock it read 9:15 am. Somewhere outside the bedroom door an obnoxious basshit hound barked for attention. I made a mental note to ignore further canine outbursts. That proved to be easier than I could have imagined and the next time I peeked at the alarm clock it was 10:30. The dog was still barking from somewhere beyond the bedroom door. I suspected the Canine-English translation was something similar to:

"Hey, get your fat ass out of bed and let me outside, I have to pee!"

I don't know why she was barking at me because there were 3 other people out in the living room. Dang dog. Dang kids.

Breakfast was 2 cups of coffee. Lunch consisted of a coconut covered 'Snowball' and two black licorice whips while sprawled out on the couch in front of the TV.

An 8 hour marathon of NCIS on my day off, life is good!

Under where?

Fashion fads come and go. In my job I see the trends ebb in and out like the tide. Fluorescent hair, facial piercings, multi layered shirts, skin tight jeans, mismatched shoes, full body tattoos ~ all in an effort to appear cool.

I view most of these passing fancies with mild humor. Young and old alike, trying so hard to keep up with the Jones, who are trying to keep up with the Smiths.

I'm still wearing last decades jeans (yay, they fit!) but I do have a purple iPod with matching earbuds, does that make me cool?

The one fashion craze that I'm having a problem accepting is the displaying of the undies. Girls and women prance around with their bra straps deliberately showing, silently begging us to notice their neon animal print. Low cut jeans and high cut thongs that disappear into proud plumbers cracks. Guys waddle around with their feet far apart in an effort to keep their jeans in the perfect height above their knees but below their butt. I'm still trying to figure out why they even bother with a belt.

That's not fashion. That's just an attempt to justify sloppy, lazy dressing.

And for the record, I never thought Picasso was very talented either.

The good, the bad and the ugly.

I had strawberry freezer jam on toast for breakfast... again. I'm not a breakfast person but I will make an exception for strawberry freezer jam on toast, again and again and again. My nephew wanted to make a sandwich. He opened up the silverware draw. It didn't rattle as it normally does because it was empty. My steadily diminishing population of flatware had since been relocated to the dirty side of the counter. I deduced that information immediately upon entering the kitchen. My nephew needed time to stare into the drawer, taking in it's emptiness to process the possibilities.

"Keep staring, something might re-appear," I suggested as I helped myself to another cup of coffee. And so he did... for another full minute, just standing there staring at the empty drawer organizer. Finally he shook his head and shut the drawer, then dug through the dirty dishes for a knife to wash. It took a while but I think he's catching on.

I'm blogging with a wounded mouse. The left clicker has been amputated, no doubt during one of Zack's late night battles with his WOW buddies. He replaced the little panel but it doesn't stay in place, sticking to my finger every time I press down upon it. I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that Zack was not victorious in his conquest last night, thus inflicting the mortal wounds to the mouse. Sad times indeed.

Oh well, I suppose I've procrastinated enough and better get busy. I've got a huge splattering of pooh on my car to clean off. Some dang bird emptied it's cargo bay right over my beautiful little car while I was at work. There was so much ick all over the poor Impala that it almost drowned. My initial suspicions were that Big Bird forgot to go to the bathroom before leaving Sesame Street and chose my car as an emergency evacuation location but Big Bird can't fly, so now I'm wondering if maybe there is a California Condor cruising the friendly skies above my store. I was able to clean the junk off of the windshield but had to drive home with it oozing all over the rest of the poor little car. And let me tell you, it's very distracting to have two big splatters of bird crap dripping down your window as you're driving. It was there the whole time in my peripheral vision like a bright neon sign that flashed out 'Look at me, I've been shat upon!' Grrrrr!

Today I'm staking out the parking lot. I'm going to find that dang bird and I'm going to shoot a cork up it's tail pipe. Crap on my car will you? I don't think so!

TOO MUCH OF A GOOD THING?

Strawberries are on sale right now so I grabbed a bunch to make freezer jam. I got enough for 1 recipe then decided to make 2 batches so I bought some more strawberries. (what can I say, it's some gooooooood stuff!) I started crushing berries and measuring them out, and wouldn't you know the first batch of berries I bought was the perfect amount for 2 batches of jam. Which meant that I had a bunch of left over berries.

I still have a bunch of left over berries. Every time I seen an Oompa I remind them to eat the strawberries so they don't go bad. It's gotten to a point where I'm almost ordering them to eat the berries. I think they're starting to avoid me. Who would have thought I'd have to order my kids to eat strawberries! At any rate, I have 11 jars of strawberry freezer jam, which puts me pretty close to Strawberry Heaven, except for one little problem.

The Oompas ate the last of the bread and I have nothing to spread my strawberry freezer jam on!

I'm trying to justify making a special trip to the Grocery Store down the way to get a loaf of bread but Al Gore's image and warning about Global Warming haunts me.

That's okay, that's what spoons are for! Mmmmmmm good!

Dickidoo left for California on Friday. He decided to fly rather than to ask me to borrow the car. Actually I think he did it just so I wouldn't try to sneak one or more of the Oompas and maybe the Shithound into the trunk without him knowing. I haven't talked to him since his lay-over in Denver that night. I'm thinking he's having all kinds of fun and is not sharing. I'm thinking 'out of sight, out of mind'. I'm thinking at least one of us is having fun and it may as well be him... although I'd have rather it be me.

I hope he eats a real Fuji burger and maybe a Carnita's burrito for me. And maybe he can track down those folks from Killer Shrimp...

But he's not going there for the food. His brother's son is graduating (with honors! Yay Michael!) and Dickidoo wanted to be there for the celebration. And he will also be able to visit with friends and relatives he hasn't seen in years. I guess I should be happy for him instead of pouting because he left me home... with the Oompas... and the Shithound... and no real Fuji burger or Carnitas burrito... and no Killer Shrimp...

Yeah, at least one of us is having fun and it may as well be him!

THE OOMPAS STRIKE AGAIN,

and this time it's one of their own!

Life in LoompaLand is in a time warp. With all of the Oompas back in the nest it is like old times. The house is loud and messy. Someone is always hungry. We never have enough toilet paper. Coffee is the scent of the day.

I watched Gabe grooming his hair from the bathroom doorway yesterday. He is trying to grow his hair back to it's pre-Army length, down to his waist. In the mean time it is at an uncontrollable length that is just beginning to curl over his ears. So he mousse's it down.

'Do you know why I had to buy my own mousse?' Gabe asked as he slicked back his hair in front of the tacky turquoise faux marble vanity. 'I used the girl's gel the other day and when I got to work Dad looked at me funny and asked what I had in my hair. When I looked in the mirror my hair was covered with glitter. At first I thought I just got a little glitter on me, but then I realized that my hair was covered with glitter.' He turned and shook a tube of hair gel at me.

'This is fricken glitter gel! I went to work with fricken glitter gel in my hair!'

I laughed long and hard. I'm not sure if I was laughing harder at the thought of my big tough son showing up at work with his dark wavy, neatly groomed hair sparkling brightly in the morning sun, or the thought that he had become a victim of his own siblings.

Yep, it's just like old times.

Sticks and stones...

Some bratty t'weenaged kid called me a 'b-i-t-c-whatsit' the other day at work. In the first 47 years of my life nobody had ever called me a 'b-i-t-c-whatsit' to my face, and now all of a sudden it's almost as if it's written on a name tag on my forehead because everyone is calling me it.

I accept the moniker with professional pride.

Today is the last day of school. Ironically I'm not dreading it like the past. There's no on going count-down to the re-opening of school posted yet. With the Oompas being older and able to fend for themselves I will probably rarely see them between their busy schedules and my work. It's that way even now. I'm usually still asleep in bed when they leave the house in the morning and they're usually in bed by the time I get home from work.

Not to worry. The Oompas have never observed the sacred boundaries of my bedroom. If Dickidoo isn't lying on his side of the bed while I'm there, it's fair game for the girls and their late night re-caps or sleepy, morning breath conversations with me. Even the boys make a point of staying up on occasion to talk to me.

I feel for the bratty t'weenaged boy's parents because I doubt they will have such fond memories of conversations with him. I've seen him talk to his father and it was laced with profanity, not quite the thing fond memories are made of.

Today is the last day of school. Tomorrow is the first day of Summer Vacation and I am actually looking forward to spending some time with the Oompas. Of course, by the looks of their dry-erase calendar I may have to settle for those late night re-caps and morning breath scented conversations in bed.

More stuff n' such.

Dickidoo is going to California next month for our nephew's graduation. I don't get to go due to inventory, and besides I went on the Cross Country Pajama Party in March. I get to stay home with the Oompas. I heard from a little birdie that Dickidoo has made plans. He's made plans that include me and my cute little Impala. But as most of Dickidoo's plans that include me go, I am always the last to know. Apparently Dickidoo plans on driving my cute little Impala to California, most likely because of it's excellent mileage. And since a few years ago when he bought himself the Hemi for my birthday which coincidentally I can't reach the clutch because I'm only 5'2 and by the way, in case you haven't heard... I'm not very clutch friendly... Gabe gets to drive the Hemi and I get to drive....


The Pimp-mobile!


Okay, I know I'm not fooling anyone, I really want to drive the Pimp-mobile. I'm just wondering how long it will be before Dickidoo shares the plan with me. I'm predicting that if he doesn't read this blog first, he probably won't tell me until just days before the trip at which time he will swear he thought he discussed this with me already.


I'll be posting a new picture of myself... soon? Becca gave me a mid-life-make-over. She cut my hair and colored it. My hair is now just below my shoulders instead of just above my butt... And while it is still brunette, there's no white hair! Okay, so maybe some of the hair is a little (a lot) lighter than others, but it's not definitely, starkly, pure white!


Everyone has complimented me on my new look except for Dickidoo, whom I really don't think has even noticed. And he hasn't said anything about my new figure either. Grrrr! It's a good thing I'm not doing this on purpose because I'd be really ticked off by the wasted effort. As it is I'm just ticked off.


Look at me, dammit! Say something! (hey, easy! Be nice!)


A little boy, maybe 4 years old, smiled at me the other day and said 'Oooooo Mama!', just like that. That made my year.


Maybe I'll get a mohawk and dye it red while Dickidoo is gone, and pierce my belly button (which isn't as big as it used to be!)... think Dickidoo will notice then?


Nahhhhhhhhh, probably not.

Jubi-doo

What happens when a Shit-hound eats glitter? It lays shiny shit. We have shiny shit all over our back yard. Of course it's perpetual shit, Jubi ate the glitter and shat, then ate the glittery shit cos it was shiny and it tasted good(?) And then she shits the glittery shit, and then eats it again and... well, you get the picture.

And I have a shitty but glittery back yard.

Let me fill you in about our not so little basshit hound. For starters she has ADD... I didn't know dogs could have an attention deficit disorder. Jubilee cleared that misconception up real quick. She can't even pee without being sidetracked by a leaf blowing across the yard or a bug flying past. While her paws are some what clumbsy, she has velcro lips which suck in and latch on to anything within 6 inches of her jawls. She may only stand about 2 feet high but has a 4 foot reach. That means anything on the lower three shelves of the pantry, the bread box and the table are pretty much fair game when nobody is looking.

Jubi-doo is highly intelligent and is playing on our simple human minds. She does tricks for us, she can sit, and lay down. She shakes hands and gives high fives. More importantly, she has us trained to give her treats when she performs these silly little antics. But we love her for it and toss her a bacon-bit on command.

She is learning how to howl. So far she only does it by accident. So far it's still cute. I'm sure I will be fussing about it before long, but for now it really is quite adorable.

Summer is almost upon us. The Oompas only have a couple more weeks of school. I'm not dreading it that much this year. Perhaps it is because I'm pretty sure they will be gone most of the time. The girls both have steady boyfriends, and then there's their busy marching band schedule. Art hopefully will have a job by then and between that and time spent with his pink haired girlfriend he'll probably never be around either. Zack is seriously thinking about moving out to New York to help out on my sister's yak farm. And Gabe, who is now working in the same building as Dickidoo, is hoping to be out in his own apartment in a couple of months. My nephew will most likely be rejoining his family back east so it will just be Dickidoo, me....

Oh yeah, and the shit-hound!

1 rhinoceros, 2 rhinocerosesssss....?

There is a Community White Board at work full of important notices, Employee recognition and useless trivia. Two days ago, in the block reserved for useless trivia, was the following: A group of rhinos is a 'crash'. I actually found that interesting. (what can I say, I am easily amused). That little tidbit got my gears turning and promoted more questions, as any good bit of trivia will.

I love Google!

My first question was the obvious. How the heck does one spell the whole word? 'Rhino' only brought up encyclopedia entries for 'rhino'. I had to speed read through several pages to find 'rhinoceros'. Okay, so what is the plural for 'rhinoceros'?

I should have been happy with knowing the correct spelling and the knowledge that a group is called a crash. Wiktionary doesn't even know for sure. Acceptable options include 'rhinoceros', 'rhinoceri', 'rhinoceroi', 'rhinocerotes' and 'rhinocerot'.

Hopefully I will never encounter the need to use the plural for rhinoceros in this lifetime.

Thought for the day: 'Swine flu' is the past tense for 'When pigs fly'. (thanks Art)

Technically retarded

retarded: (adjective)
Delayed in development.

I lovingly refer to my kids as 'techno-geeks'. They are, but it's not genetic that's for darn sure. Dickidoo, in a moment of jealousy, purchased himself an ipod nano in an attempt to keep up with the Oompas. He was entranced by the possibility of having thousands of songs at his finger tip. Being as Mother's Day was right around the corner, he got one for me as well (in purple!)

That was Quarto de Mayo... May 4th. It is now Ocho de Mayo, May 8th. Neither one of us has a single song loaded on our ipods.

Did you know that before you can load music on to an ipod, you must transfer your music to iTunes? No biggie. All you have to do is select 'add folder to library' and iTunes can transfer it all over. It started off quickly, then a little box popped up. Did I want iTunes to convert my .wma files?

Sure, why not!

6 hours and 4434 files later iTunes sent me an error stating that I didn't have enough room in my iTunes library for all of the files (really? it's only 23G or 11 days worth of music... yes, it calculated all of that).

I don't even know 434 songs in my lifetime let alone 4434! I did a quick scan of my incomplete library. iTunes had loaded every sound file it found including little sound effects ( is that what those .wma files were?) When I get tired of listening to the soothing sounds of Kenny G. I can listen to 'body falling in snow' or 'car backfiring'.

4 days later and neither Dickidoo nor I have a single song loaded on our ipods. I'm thinking we probably should have saved ourselves some time and money and gotten portable 8 track tape players. (in purple of course!)

I CAN BREATH!

My nose has been running a marathon since the first thaw this spring. I don't mind. It could be worse. I could be full of snot and NOT have a runny nose. In my book congestion is worse than free flow.

But there is an absolutely disgusting gadget on the market these days to help combat nasal congestion. If you get congested a lot you have got to try it out.

It's a squirt bottle that you fill with a saline solution then you stuff the nozzle up one nostril and squirt the liquid up your nose. The saline goes up your nose, into your sinuses, and out the other nostril (and your mouth... don't swallow!), taking snot and mucus from your sinus cavities along with it. If you're not sure that it is actually doing it's job, just look in the sink as the saline pours out of your nose and into the basin. Yep, chunks and sludge!

As disgusting as it sounds, it is instant relief for this allergy suffering old lady and her pollen ravaged sinuses. Even the sinus headaches are gone. I feel positively rejuvenated. Sure beats the booger-ball that sucks out the mucus and your eye balls as well if you're not careful.

Now I can enjoy the fragrance of a warm spring morning, the roses, the lilacs, the Water Treatment Plant down the way...

Ah, spring time! I love it!

pensive...

Today was one of those days that started off good, kept getting better and then 'poof', I had to ruin it all by going home.

Sometimes I think my family is selfish. Then I feel selfish for thinking so. Either way, it sucks like a big bad baby. I have found that I get over it more quickly now days. Perhaps I've matured and learned to accept things that I cannot change... blah blah blah. Maybe I've become complacent and it doesn't matter that much. Or maybe I've become callous and I just don't care.

Either, or, and all of the above. What ever.

I sat alone on the patio while the others ate the meal I rushed to prepare as soon as I got home from work. Even the clouds were against me. But when I squinted real hard I saw that despite the gloomy over cast sky, the stars were still bright and shiny, as always. That made me smile. That always makes me smile. And when I turned around to go back inside I saw a sliver of the moon glowing softly in the dark.

Never saw the moon when it wasn't beautiful. 48 years and it still takes my breath away.

'Poof' and the evening ended well... as always.

And the answer is.....

GABE!

He rode in on the late Greyhound bus, looking just as good as he did the last time we saw him. Sadly this trip was made alone... no Kim, no Ryott or other little ones. It's a long story, sad story. It would make a good country 'somebody done somebody wrong' song, or a plot for a soap opera. At any rate, Gabe is here, Kim and the boys are 'there', and it looks like that is the way things will stay.

It was a white Easter here in the Springs. The snowflakes drifted lazily to the ground. I like standing outside when it's like that, no wind, just a faint wisp of motion as the flakes descend from the sky. I know I've mentioned this before and many people think I'm crazy for saying it, but the snowflakes really do make a tinkling sound as they fall. It's a soothing, peaceful sound. It sounds like home.

My boy is finally home.

I hope everyone's Easter was a wonderful as ours.